Alfred Fitzgerald Jones
by nothing-chan
Summary: November 22, 1963, Dallas, Texas: The only time he caught a glimpse of his reflected sky eyes was when Alfred pulled his hands back himself, face contorted and begging behind his glasses, mouth leaking a liquid that dribbled onto his stark shirt, tainting the fabric grotesquely red. Then arouse the loudest noise Arthur had ever witnessed in his whole life.


"_And there's the First Lady… er Man, looking absolutely radiant in a pink suit jacket today."_

"You think they would get it right after all this time," Arthur turned to whisper to his husband, the smile cemented to his face never wavering as the incandescent flashes seared into his vision.

"Well, you are wearing pink," Alfred muttered into his pale ear, and the other gawked at him, body half exiting the provisional metal steps leading down from the jet they had spent hours on. But the charismatic boy was no longer paying attention to his gauche and lost companion, now waving at the subservient media begging for his attention below.

Arthur huffed a bit, ignoring the masses of camera wielding people around, leaving the flimsy staircase and making his way toward the open car displayed in front of him.

"Arthur," Matthew outstretched his hand, agile but misleading limbs tense, overall keeping his always attentive disposition under the dull sunlight. It was his job to protect Arthur at all costs, even if that meant helping him into a car inches off the ground, strangling his hand so the fragile boy did not slip to the ground and ruin his graceful reputation in front of all of the eyes of America.

He smiled in thanks to the willow tree man, settling into his seat to watch Alfred speak into a microphone shoved too close to his face, grinning all the while, exuding confidence and leaking brazen assurance of his good looks, his charm, his power. They crowded around him, fumbling masses trying to capture any of the sunlit rays that shone from his tan skin, basking anyone close enough into an awed state, forgetting to hold their burdensome cameras up to film his face, so focused on laughing at his humored words and pallid teeth.

Alfred glanced over, seeing Arthur sitting alone, ogling him with a small smile, unaware he was even doing it himself, and he abandoned the crowd with a small twitch of the hand, bounding over to the car with youthful energy. He slid into the backseat without help, taking a numbered amount of seconds to capture Arthur's lips, chaste and pure, highly unlikely to cause controversy for the few camerapersons who had recovered from his spell quickly enough to record the display of affection.

It was hard to not disintegrate at the amount of love Alfred held in his heart, even after the years they had been together, even after all of the people he tucked inside of it, and Arthur pretended to be aghast at the quick kiss, but held deep inside the warmth the small brush brought.

The doors were shut, a gunshot through the lucid November air, and they were gone, traversing through the cracked pavement at a speed that barraged Arthur's hair back, blonde strands like the leaves that circled the air. Next to him, Alfred watched the nothingness stretch by, unable to contain the excitement across his face, emerging in the form of an innocent smile, as if the broken farms and empty fields were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Sometime before they reached the city of Dallas, Alfred reached out and grabbed Arthur's hand.

* * *

They had been riding for hours, minutes, lifetimes, Arthur's hand now heavy and face languish from the repeated stretched grin and royal waves. Still, the miles spanned on, people brandishing flags and streamers and calls as loud as the wind, so fascinated by the leader slowly rolling by them, close enough to touch.

Alfred was in his element completely, engrossed in the absorption all around, twiddling his fingers at children, winking at young women, inspiring the patriotic crowd to roar and spill over onto the street, all hoping to be the one to catch the eye of the President.

But Arthur trumped them all, hand still trapped in Alfred's, slightly damp from the warmth, almost a security blanket that kept him swinging his free hand back and forth, foliage eyes locked on a little girl who tugged her mother's dress, astonished that she had captured his revered gaze.

The governor seated in the front rounded to them; blanch hair flickering in the daylight.

"Well Mr. President, you can't say Dallas doesn't love you."

Alfred laughed, shining bright gold as he squeezed Arthur's hand firmly in between his own.

"No, you certainly can't."

Then arouse the loudest noise Arthur had ever witnessed in his whole life, louder than whispers of love, louder than a firework against his skin, louder than the confusion riveting all around. It squealed past his ear, and Alfred's hand briskly vanished, pulled away as he covered his face, shielding himself from the on looking crowds.

"Alfred? Alfred, what's wrong?" Arthur watched him, still smiling, unable to rip the hideous grin off his face, plastered from hours of cramped cheeks. Alfred refused to acknowledge the words, incapable of speaking past his brick wall arms, every centimeter of his handsome face guarded from the light. There was shrieking from in front of them, but Arthur was deaf to it, numb, so focused on pulling at Alfred's arms, just to see his face, he lost all hold over everything . The smile was gone, the crowds were hushing, he tugged harder, grappling for a sight of the familiar, regal profile.

"Alfred, Alfred what's wrong," the name twisted on and on as he jerked at the branch, still so weak compared to Alfred's wish to bulwark himself from the boy he once sat touching.

The only time he caught a glimpse of his reflected sky eyes was when Alfred pulled his hands back himself, face contorted and begging behind his glasses, mouth leaking a liquid that dribbled onto his stark shirt, tainting the fabric grotesquely red.

Arthur was up and out of his seat the next time a shot rang out, tapering his ears to an obtuse whine, ringing emptily as the world howled.

He turned around, skittering across the slick trunk of the vehicle, slipping onto his elbows, nose assaulted with the metallic aura of blood.

Blood, blood, there was so much blood, clogged onto his face, squishing through his fingers, drenching every inch of him until he drown in the essence of the only thing that had ever mattered to him. Skin and skull and brain matter, all holding moments of their life, all holding memories and love, slid around and around as the car sped up, disappearing and taking with them a life that meant so much it could not be contained.

Arthur caught sight of Matthew sprinting as expeditiously as his gazelle legs would let him, reaching out for him, face so devastated, so harrowed, so utterly broken it crumbled to the floor with every step, golden hair bouncing through the singed air.

Someone yelled to get down, so Arthur did just that, tumbling back into his seat, shoving his face onto Alfred's legs, crushed between his contracted and limp body.

He held tightly with one hand to Alfred's thigh, the other to the back of his head, squeezing so desperately he saw the tunneled light on his gray pants, hoping his scalp would collapse in on itself and he would evaporate, away from the warm and curdled water dripping onto his head, away from the coldness clenched in his palm, coldness that once teemed with dawn.

Hoping that if he vanished, Alfred would awake, would collect his missing pieces, resurge with vitality, sweep his lips as he had before, leaving an ever glowing trail across his drenched face, not sitting slumped and leaking on top of the screaming boy huddled into his lap.

* * *

_Hello._

_I am so obsessed with JFK and Jackie and just everything about them and their life and their family. Kennedy has to be my favorite president, hands down._

_That being said, I cannot watch the Zepruder Film without crying. The way Jackie tries to see what is wrong, and how she is so lost and afraid, and her face when he is shot, it just destroys me every time._

_So naturally I take out that anguish on my favorite pairing._

_Also inspired by the monologue at the end of Lana Del Rey's National Anthem video, which is all based off of Jackie and John as well. Check it out, it's really beautiful._

_Please review, favorite, and enjoy your day._


End file.
